


This Could Be Our Last First Kiss

by crayonbreakygal



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 12:19:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9440144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crayonbreakygal/pseuds/crayonbreakygal
Summary: First kiss, last kiss.  The times when Sherlock was actually being a human being. It doesn't happen often, but when it does....  Takes place pre-series throughout the time that Sherlock and Molly have known each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so know I've gone angsty on y'all. Not too badly, but still. I know there must have been times, rather short mind you, that Sherlock was nice to Molly. Maybe it was to get what he wanted, but he can be nice. Probably only to her though. And we all know she'd do anything for him. I am playing with the timeline just a tiny bit. The time when Molly told Sherlock she'd broken up with "Jim for IT" had happened a bit later, but I'm thinking he didn't remember she'd told him that before. So there. He asks her again later about Jim and her taste in men.

“This Could Be Our Last First Kiss”

Takes place pre-series and throughout the time that Molly and Sherlock have known each other.

 

Oh, bloody hell, not again.  She’d not live through this one, if he did it again.  How did he think her life would go on if he kept this up?

Only this time he wasn’t stopping.  This time.

 

The first time it had happened had been right after they’d met, or had been introduced by Mike Stamford.  Mike apparently did not want to deal with the young, arrogant man, so he gave him to Molly.  Molly Hooper, resident pathologist, newly appointed, so naïve.  Mike hadn’t given her a clue about what she’d encounter until right before he walked in the door.

“He’s quite the arse, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh, um, alright.  Why are we helping him?”

“Scotland Yard.  He’s just consulting.”

That’s when Molly had met him, Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, followed by Greg Lestrade. 

“The body,” he demanded.

Molly jumped at his request, not even able to take in what was going on, much less being ordered around.  Not like anyone was in a hurry at the morgue.  Unless you hated this sort of thing.  By the way Mr. Holmes was looking at the body, he indeed was fascinated by what he saw.  A man after her own heart.  Be careful what you wish for, she thought later.

“Cause of death,” came the next demand.

“Asphyxiation I believe.”

“It either is or isn’t.  Which is it, Ms….”

“Hooper.  Dr. Hooper.”

“You’re a doctor? Kind of young, aren’t you?”

“Kind of an arse, aren’t you,” she mumbled as she reached for the paperwork.

As she read off her findings, Holmes shook his head, almost like he agreed with her.

“Very good, very good. Gavin?”

“Greg,” Lestrade growled.

“The butler did it.  I’ve always wanted to say that.  Seems like he had enough of being belittled and strangled the bastard.”

Molly could see why someone would do that just by looking at Sherlock Holmes.  He turned as fast as he’d come in, leaving her behind with a bewildered Mike Stamford and Lestrade waving his thanks.

“Well, wasn’t that lovely,” she said as Mike grinned her way.

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to visit her weekly.  He’d consulted on many cases for Lestrade.  Then he requested a space in her lab of all things.  Mike granted it!  She’d deal. She’d just ignore him and deal.

“Dr. Hooper, I need a microscope,” he demanded as he raced into the lab.

She accidentally dropped the beaker she’d been carrying, it shattering into a big mess on the floor.  Sherlock glared at her, but turned to help her.

“You’re bleeding,” he said as he took her hand in his.

Dammit, was all she could think later.  His large hand took her much smaller one in his, dabbed at the cut on her finger to stop the flow.

“Is there glass in it?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

He didn’t take no for an answer, leading her over to the counter.  Taking out his magnifying glass, he looked around it until being satisfied that there was none.  The bleeding had stopped too.

Being that close to him was devastating.  He literally loomed over her, body heat and cologne almost overwhelming her.  Maybe it was the cut, maybe it was the fact that he was actually being nice to her.  Or maybe it was the fact that he brought her injured hand up to his lips and gave it a quick peck that almost had her swooning.  She did not swoon.  This was silly, really.  With his curling hair and mesmerizing eyes and cheekbones.  Dammit, there she went again.  Too many romance novels and Jane Austin.

“Microscope?”

“Alright, yes.  Whatever you want.  I mean, over here.”

That was the beginning of their so-called relationship, as she thought of it.  He used her to get what he wanted, she let him, and life was great.  Until John Watson walked into both their lives.  Did he think to turn Sherlock into a real, live boy?  Or man, because he definitely was all man. Or robot. She could never tell which.

 

The second time it happened, Sherlock showed up at her door literally panting.   Pushing his way inside, he raced through her apartment in a panic.

“Where is he?”

How did he know where she lived? She had never shared that information with him, ever.  Even the few times he’d stolen her phone to check up on her (he’d done that a few times), he hadn’t found her address. Or at least she thought.

“Sherlock, what on earth?”

“Is he here?”

“Who?”

She had no idea what he referring.

“You’re safe, for now.  Oh god.  John thought.”

“Sherlock, John thought what?”

John had taken to living with Sherlock, which in and of itself seemed a bit strange.  There had even been rumors of a romance between the two, but Molly knew that John was not gay, so that was off the table.  Then Sherlock had deduced that Molly’s new boyfriend, now ex since he broke up with her the day before, was gay.  How?  How did he do that?

“Jim from IT?”

“What about Jim?  Maybe you were right.”

“No, Jim from IT. When was the last time you saw him, Molly?”

This wasn’t just Sherlock deducing anyone or telling her that the man she was dating wasn’t what she thought.  He looked too serious and a bit scared.

“Last night.  You were right, I think.  He broke up with me.”

“Oh good.  Thank god.”

Leaning against the back of her sofa, he sighed out his relief, his whole body relaxing just a bit.

“Do not, under any circumstances, speak to him again.  And if he calls, contact me immediately.”

“Sherlock.  I don’t understand. He’s gone.”

“No, Molly.  You don’t understand,” he tried to explain to her.  “He’s not Jim from IT. He’s Jim Moriarty, master criminal.  He tried to kill John and myself a few hours ago.”

Molly shook her head, not believing what he’d just said.

“No, he’s Jim from IT.  I met him when he came to fix my computer.  He’s Jim from IT. You must be mistaken.”

“He strapped a bomb to John. He strapped a bomb to that old lady.”

“What old lady?  Oh my god, Sherlock, are you talking about the old lady in that building?  Eleven people died.  I did the autopsies on at least three of them.”

Her hands shook as he got even closer to her.

“It was a gas explosion.”

“No, Molly.  Were their injuries consistent with a gas explosion?”

“No, they weren’t.  I was just going to speak with you about that and then Jim broke up with me.”

“He blew her up because she started to describe him to me.”

He was hurting, she could tell.  He closed his eyes, chin dropped to his chest.

“He was going to kill John.  I couldn’t stop him.”

Sherlock flinched when she placed her hand on his cheek, to at least give him some comfort.  She’d never seen him act so frantic, so worried as he was at that moment.

“John’s ok now, right?”

“Yeah.  Yes.  He’s fine.  A bit shaken.”

“As are you.”

“No, I’m fine.  I had to check on you.”

Why would he have to check on her?  No one wanted to kill her?  She was nobody.

“He could have hurt you.”

Grabbing her hand in his, he brought it up to his lips, placing a gentle kiss before letting it go.  His showing of weakness was over as she watched him transform back to Sherlock Holmes before her eyes.

 

She gasped as he said he wanted her.  Not as wanted wanted her, but needed her help.  She wished in the back of her mind that was really what he wanted, but she knew he’d never think of her that way.  They’d surely gained some equilibrium over the last year or so now that John was his partner in crime or crime solving.  Molly knew he was sad, sad bringing John into this mess. Now he’d get John out of it once and for all. 

“I need your help to disappear. I need to die.”

“What, what can I do?”

Sherlock mapped out what the plan was and what had been done so far.  The name of his brother came spitting out, like it was a curse word, but he was helping.  Molly was needed to find a body that looked like him and to perform an “autopsy” on the body once it was done.

“Molly, Moriarty used someone that looked a lot like me.  I’m fairly certain, no, I am certain you have a John Doe in your mist.  Have you looked at any of the bodies that have come in the last twelve to twenty four hours?”

“There were three.  I just hadn’t gotten round to them yet.”

The first was an older lady.  The second probably a drug addict by the looks of it.  The third, oh the third.  Molly hardly ever was squeamish, but this time she was. The man was a bit shorter and had shorter hair, but his hair was curly, he was about the same weight. He wasn’t a dead ringer for the detective, but if he was banged up, then he would pass.

“This man kidnapped and almost killed two children.”

“Bastard,” she whispered.

“Let’s give him a proper send-off, shall we?”

Everything went off without a hitch.  Sherlock had it planned down to the T, everything except for Moriarty killing himself.  That was not in his scenarios at all.  Now Molly had to perform two autopsies.  Only she didn’t do either, but signed the forms anyway.  Mycroft’s people pulled the bodies shortly after everything had happened.

She was left dazed and confused, standing in her morgue out of breath.

“Molly,” she heard off in the distance.

It was too quiet down in the morgue at that point.  After all that had happened, she didn’t even know what time it was.  Glancing at her phone, she realized it was late.  Sherlock had jumped not long after daybreak.  All the ensuing chaos had made time fly.  She shook as she realized that she’d only had a bag of crisps at some point. Not much food and no liquids to speak of.

She heard it again. Her name being spoken.  It creeped her out. Picking up her phone, she started to tap out a distress when she saw a familiar coat.

Sherlock leaned up against a wall right outside a storage closet, gasping for air.

“Sherlock, what happened?”

“In all the craziness, I must have cracked a rib, or two. Or possibly more.”

“The adrenaline’s worn off.”

She could see the look of pain on his face.

“I can treat you.  Come back into the morgue.”

“No, no.  Just in case.  I can possibly make it to your flat.”

“Not without help, you won’t. Here, let me get you a disguise. Stay right here.”

Saving him again, she thought as she rummaged through the clothes in the locker room.  Finding a hat and a large jacket, she found him sitting on the floor now, in obvious pain.

“Cap, jacket. No one will know it’s you. Just act drunk or something.  We’ll take a cab back to my place.”

“Brilliant,” he moaned.

He thought she was brilliant or her plan was?  Molly had no idea what to do with his coat, so she placed it around her own body and rolled the sleeves up, a lot.  It was warm to sink into and smelled just like he did.  It threatened to overwhelm her, but her patient was all that mattered.  She had to take care of him.

If the cab driver noticed who Sherlock was, Molly would give him credit because Sherlock put on a stellar performance.  Drunken asshole it was. The bright yellow jacket and cap in addition to the hood, stooping over, if just because of the ribs, had given him the perfect disguise.  Molly was virtually hidden underneath his coat, her scarf and cap.  She directed him to a place about a block away from her flat.  It was quiet once they exited the cab, paying in cash as they did.

As she gathered supplies in her flat, Sherlock sat on her sofa, staring off into the distance.

“Just the ribs?” Molly asked as she sat beside him.

“Yes.”

“You have to take your shirt off so I can look at them.”

“Just wrap something around me and I’ll be gone.”

“No, Sherlock.  That is not what I’m going to do.  You’ll need to ice them and get complete rest, at least for a day or two.  Binding them could cause pneumonia.”

He looked at her strangely, but started to pull off his suit jacket, only to wince in pain as he did.

“Here,” Molly offered, gently tugging it off.

Next came his shirt, which Molly took care of for him. He stared down at her fingers as they pushed the buttons through the holes.  As she exposed more skin, the longer her fingers took unbuttoning the shirt.  Holding up his wrists, Molly unbuttoned them also.  There were bruises marking his chest.  No wonder he was in such pain. She wouldn’t look at him as a man, but a patient.

“I need to see if any of them are broken.  I don’t think they are because you’d not be able to breathe at all.”

“Certainly not easy at the moment.”

“Sherlock, maybe you need x-rays.”

“No.  There’s nothing anyone can do.”

“True.”

Molly probed a bit, but since there wasn’t any more pain other than what he was experiencing, she hoped that he would be alright.

Sherlock, in front of her, half naked. She never thought that would ever happen.  He wasn’t some body builder or had a six pack, but he was trim and fit and oh she was not going to think about that right now. She had a job to do and that was tend to him. Helping him up, she led him back to her bedroom, arranging the pillows so that he didn’t lie flat on his back.  Then she retrieved an ice pack, placing it on his chest. He sucked in a breath, but held it while she found some pain reliever.

“Here, take this.  It’ll help you sleep.”

“No sleep meds, Molly.”

“Just pain meds, Sherlock.  You need them.”

He reluctantly took them from her.  She knew of his past, of his past drug use from Greg and Mike Stamford.  There was even one time she swore he’d been using, but Greg had him out of the morgue so fast she never found out if it were true.

“Thank you.”

Sherlock actually said thanks to her and actually meant it.

“You do matter, Molly.  You do.  Never forget that.”

It was the pain talking, she thought.  He was delirious with it.  That’s the only way he’d speak to her this way.

“And no, it’s not the pain talking.  Please believe me.  What you’ve done for me.  I’ll never forget it.”

He looked so sad and vulnerable lying in her bed.  He’d just killed himself, let his best friend see him supposedly die so that they could live.  Molly brushed an errant curl away from his forehead, placing a gentle kiss there.

As she moved away, he grabbed her arm, holding her there above him, looking down into his eyes. 

“My Molly,” he whispered.

He sighed as she kissed his cheek, slowly moving away from him so that he could sleep.

 

The kiss on her cheek was not expected, nor was it warranted.  It hadn’t startled her, it only made her sad.  His gesture, of including her, of making her feel just a bit more needed, had been thrilling.  Helping him solve crimes, follow up leads had been fun, if for the day.  Molly knew it would end.  John would come back after he forgave his friend the lies.  John needed the time to heal, to take all that had happened in the last few days.  He’d come round.

Sherlock had truly seemed happy for her, if just a bit sad too.  Was she safe now? Is that why he actually asked her for fish and chips?  He’d never taken her out before.  Maybe having a ring on her finger made her inaccessible. 

Oh how he had changed since he went away.  Sure, he was still rude and obnoxious.  Molly was something different though. Helping save him by helping him die had done something to her.  She was more capable, more able to move through life thinking that she indeed counted, was not a waste.  Now she was reliving the feelings she’d encountered two years before.

As he walked away from her, the tears started to flow.  She could be his friend, whatever he needed.  She knew though they were on more even ground now.

 

After the drugs and the slaps and the bogus girlfriend (she’d hoped that Janine was bogus), Molly hoped against hope that Sherlock would survive just so she could slap him again.  He was oh so still in his hospital bed, only stirring when it seemed like he was dreaming something terrible.  The shot had almost killed him, but he fought like mad, which said something to her.  He hadn’t a death wish, even if he’d used drugs mere days before.

His skin was so pale from losing so much blood.  They’d lost him once on the table, had even called it, but he kept fighting his way back. Now that he was out of danger, they all breathed a sigh of relief.  What permanent damage had been done?  The doctors did not know.

It was Molly’s turn to sit and hold his hand.  John had taken many turns, just like Mary and even Mycroft for a bit, although all Mycroft could do was sit there and glare at his brother.  Molly figured that he was angry at Sherlock for taking so many chances.  He’d also found out from John that he was using again.

“No, Mary don’t,” Sherlock mumbled.  “Don’t hurt John.”

“Sherlock, it’s alright.  Just rest,” Molly tried to sooth him.

His hand tightened up on hers, eyes flying open.  He didn’t seem to see her, only his eyes were open wide.  Molly stood so that he could see her, only it didn’t seem he was quite with it.

“You have to save John. Please.  Save John.  Mary.  Save John.  Mary, she…”

“Sherlock, it’s alright. John and Mary are alright.”

“Please, don’t let.  Mary.  Hurt.  John,” came out jumbled.

Molly brushed her hand across his forehead.

“It’s ok. I’m here. We’re all here.”

“Molly.  Can’t save.  Molly.  I care.”

Tears slowly slid down his face. He still hadn’t actually noticed she was there, only kept staring straight ahead.

“You saved me.  You saved me.”

Saved him?  She wasn’t even around when he’d been brought in.  Besides, they were at an entirely different hospital. 

“John did. He was there, thank goodness.”

“You stopped the bleeding.”

“Sherlock, I wasn’t there.”

“You saved me.  You saved me.”

His eyes slowly drifted shut. He’d had a few lucid moments with John, but this had been the first time he’d said complete sentences.  Molly didn’t think he was lucid though with the babbling he’d done.  She hadn’t saved him.

His hand reached out and grabbed hers by the wrist and brought it against him.

“Rest, Sherlock. I’m here.”

As she wiped his tears, he held onto her hand like she was his lifeline.  His pulse was a bit rapid, but nothing he couldn’t handle at this stage.

Molly sat there for another hour as he held her hand in his.  He slowly relaxed, hand sliding down and back to the bed.  Before she left, she placed a kiss on his cheek, just to tell him she was there for him and to not worry.

“My Molly,” she heard him say as she gathered her things to go.

He’d said that once before, when he’d bruised his ribs jumping into that air bag at St. Bart’s.  He’d said his pathologist more times than she could count since he thought she was his personal assistant or something.  He’d even called her John once or twice when they’d gone out that day to solve crimes.  What did it mean?

 

He looked like hell warmed over.  His skin was paler than she’d ever seen it, hair all askew, shirt rumpled.  Behind him stood what looked like one of Mycroft’s men.

“Go away, please.”

Sherlock was angry, that much was apparent.  Molly wished he’d given her warning that he was coming over, but he never did. She’d given up on him telling her his schedule. He’d show up, rummage through her refrigerator, even sometimes make tea. He often would sleep on her bed for days at a time.  It was his hideout, he’d once told her.  No one knew he’d come and go as he pleased.  She’d given up on trying to keep up appearances. Her only rule was to knock before entering the bathroom.  And even that one was broken once or twice.

“Sherlock.”

The man behind Sherlock did not budge.

“Where would I go?”

Whipping out his phone, Sherlock texted someone.  Waiting for an answer, he stood before her tapping his foot angrily against the tile in her entryway.

The man’s phone beeped then.

“Right outside the door,” Sherlock ordered, pushing the man out and slamming the door in his wake.

“What’s going on, Sherlock?”

“Nothing. I mean, I have to go away.  A favor for Mycroft.  I’ve come, I mean, I need…”

“What do you need, Sherlock?”

Now that was a loaded question. The last time she’d asked him that she had helped him die.  She hoped that was not what he had planned this time.

“You.”

That was the same answer he’d given her.  Blast it, Sherlock.  What had he gotten himself into this time?

“I’m here.  You have me. Now tell me what you need.”

What she didn’t expect was for him to drop to his knees, hugging her around her middle.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong? Tell me what happened?  Is John alright? Mary?  The baby?”

Molly was so happy when Mary and John announced they were expecting.  Even Sherlock seemed happy about it, although she could tell just by looking at him he was a bit sad too.  He and John’s relationship would change.  John wouldn’t be available at the drop of a hat.

“Fine. They’re alright. Alright.  I made sure.”

He made sure?  What was he talking about?  Made sure?

“Sherlock, you need to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

Was he crying? She could feel his tears through her thin nightshirt.  As she raked her hands through his hair, he calmed somewhat, breaths coming in shuddering gasps now.  They must have stood there for an hour before he’d get up and move to the sofa.  He curled his body up against hers and sighed.  It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep against her.  The sofa was not large enough for the both of them, especially since he was so much bigger than she was.  Molly did not care.

“No,” he cried out in his sleep.

His eyes popped open when Molly shifted to get a better position.

“This sofa is quite uncomfortable.”

Molly giggled at that, knowing she’d have a kink in her neck the next morning from her awkward position of him half lying on top of her and half on the sofa.

“Bed, now.”

“Excuse me?”

He rolled his eyes at her, but took her hand and led her back to her bedroom. He didn’t even care that he stripped off his clothes in front of her. Crawling into her bed, he patted the other side.

“Now, Molly.”

He burrowed under the blankets then, but still patted the other side. He was going to kill her, literally kill her.  She knew he only wanted to sleep. But there he was, in only a bit of cloth between the two of them.  Usually he had on his pajamas that he kept in her flat.  Bastard.

As gently as she could, she climbed in beside him. She didn’t want to wake him if he’d already fallen asleep. He immediately draped an arm over her, pulling her into a tight embrace as he did.  Killing her. Yes, that was his intent.

“Go to sleep, Molly.”

As Molly slowly drifted off to sleep, she felt the gentle kiss on the back of her neck. He settled against her, wrapping her up in his warmth.

In the early morning hours, she felt him stir, rolling over to climb out.  He usually did not stay the whole night, but he’d stayed longer than he had before.

“Sherlock?”

“Molly, go back to sleep.”

“It’s too early.”

“Unfortunately it’s too late.  Sleep.”

In her sleep addled brain, she had no idea why he’d say something like that.  As his head descended to hers, she thought he’d give her a quick peck on the cheek like he’d done a dozen times. He’d taken to doing that when he was leaving her flat.  Like it was a thanks to her for sharing her space.  Only this wasn’t a thanks for sharing.  This was a full on kiss. His hands sunk into her hair as he deepened the kiss, moaning as her lips parted.  At first, Molly had been stunned. He’d never done this, had never made any kind of move on her. 

When they’d finally come up for air, Sherlock looked down at her, sorrow clearly written on his face.

“What?”

As he pulled away from her, he didn’t take his eyes off of her. 

“Goodbye, Molly Hooper.”

“Sherlock, what’s going on?”

He left just as suddenly as he had appeared the night before.

 

He was trying to break her heart.  It must not be for a case.  He wouldn’t do that to her, make her say something he knew in his heart was true.  Was he making a mockery of what she felt?  She’d call him on it, make him say it back to her.  He hadn’t said one word about what they’d shared that one early morning. He was indeed closer to her, had invited her to several things including a dinner that he had prepared.  They were just friends though.  Just friends.

“It’s for a case, Molly. Just say it.  Please.”

By the tone of his voice, she knew something was going on. He never begged.  Yes, that was his begging voice. Not just anyone would know it.  He was keeping it modulated as best he could, but she could tell the edge in his voice.  If he was going to be cruel, then so be it.

“You say it back.”

She hadn’t meant to ask that of him, knowing that he couldn’t, wouldn’t. He didn’t feel that way toward her. He’d hurt her and hurt her badly in that ambulance.  The drugs had taken a major toll on his body. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that she couldn’t see him like this again.  He told her then to leave him alone, to go away. They hadn’t spoken since.

“Please, Molly.  Say it.”

She’d convinced him to say it to her. It was like an arrow shot through her heart.  She thought that he would indeed kill her one day, kill her heart so that no one else would ever be able to claim it. 

“I love you.”

He’d said it, not mumbled, but with conviction. She wanted to yell at him that she hated him, despised him. He wasn’t lying. He’d never lie about something like that. She knew him too well.

“I love you.”

The line went dead.

 

As she cleaned up after a rather trying day at work, her hands shook. She’d not heard from Sherlock after their conversation.  She was definitely worried about him.  Greg Lestrade had come over a few hours later with a bomb squad of all things.  He’d explained to her that they had to just be sure there had not been a bomb planted at her flat.  So what Sherlock had said had been for a case.  He’d been coerced into telling her that he loved her.

After everything had been put away, Molly stood at her desk, having just finished up the paperwork for the night.  It had been a long, long day.  She was looking forward to a nice glass of wine and the telly.

As she turned to put on her coat, she heard the scraping of the door opening.  Thinking it was the cleaners, she turned to tell them about the overflow in the bathroom next door.

“You might want to check what’s going on with the wa..t..er.”

Sherlock stood in front of her, hands in his coat pockets, looking down at his feet.

“I’ve come to apologize.”

He wouldn’t look her in the eyes.

“Oh, it’s not a bother.  Greg explained to me. It was for a case.  A bit scary it was having the bomb squad searching my flat.”

It looked as if he hadn’t shaved again, although only for a few days.  When he hadn’t cared about personal hygiene, hadn’t taken care of himself in addition to the drugs scared her.

“I’m sorry. I can explain.”

“As I said, I understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

She could see the anger building behind his eyes.  What had she done to anger him?  Was he still upset about what she’d said in that ambulance, told him that she was done with him?

“Then tell me. What do I need to understand?”

She hadn’t meant for her anger to match his, but it was getting there.

As she gathered up her things, she wanted to flee.  It was bad enough that he had humiliated her with saying what she’d felt for years. Now he’d come to finish it off once and for all.

Making for the door, his arm reached out to grab hers. 

“Let go.”

“You have to listen.”

“No, I do not.  You’ve humiliated me for the last time.”

It didn’t take long for Sherlock to make her drop her bag, her keys and her phone.  She’d known somehow that one kiss they’d shared was a kiss of goodbye.  She’d found out later that’s what it had been from Mary.  This one was different, like he was pouring all that he felt, all that he could not say into one moment in time. Molly hung onto his coat as he kissed her like she was the only other person on the planet.  Or at least that’s what she thought right then.

“Breathing,” she panted as he finally let her go, foreheads together.

“You’re ok,” he said as he ran his hands through her hair.

“What?  I don’t understand.”

“It’s a long story.  Very unbelievable and a bit scary.  All Mycroft’s fault too.”

Molly giggled at this.  It was always his brother’s fault in Sherlock’s eyes.

“I’m not lying. It is all his fault.  And I don’t lie, ever.”

Molly thought back on all the compliments to get what he wanted, all the times he told her that her potential boyfriends were not good enough for her, the times where she tried too hard and he told her what she was doing wrong. He was always right, although a girl never wanted to hear that kind of truth.  He always missed something though, something critical.

“What did you miss?” she finally asked as she pulled his head away from another toe curling kiss.

“That I’m the biggest idiot on the planet.  She would have known if I’d lied to you.”

“She?”

“As I said, lots to tell you.  Baker Street?”

“Sherlock, it’s been a long day and…”

Jesus, where had he learned how to kiss?  She melted into a puddle of goo, agreeing to accompany him back to Baker Street. If this was a trick, she would be killing him in short order.

“You still don’t believe me,” he said as he pulled her up the stairs to his flat.

It didn’t take him long to have her in the flat and in his chair. Both of them.

“Sherlock, maybe this isn’t…”

“Shh,” he commanded as his mouth worked down her neck.

“We should talk.”

“Later.”

It ended up being much, much later and not where they’d started out. The chair had been left for a much more comfortable arrangement. One that she never dreamed she’d be. 

“I have a sister,” he started as she laid her head on his chest.

It seemed to take hours to tell her all that had transpired in the last few days. The fact that he had a sister, one that he’d totally forgotten, was distressing, but she understood.

“She’ll stay there? I mean, she sounds dangerous. Mycroft has a lot to answer for.”

“He does. Mummy and Daddy were very cross with him.”

“Cross?”

“More than cross.  I think a slap or two was involved. I’ve never seen my mother that upset.”

“I’m sorry, about all that.  It has to be distressing.”

“She was going to kill John and Mycroft and you. Three of the people I care about the most.”

“Did you mean it?” Molly finally asked.

He had to mean it, she thought.  There they were, in his bed, naked, tangled up together.

“Yes, Molly Hooper,” he said as he turned her over, to pin her to the bed.  “I love you more than you can ever know. The thought of losing you, I think Eurus understood that on some level.  If she had done away with you, she knew I’d come after her no matter who she was.”

“I love you too.”

He smiled down at her, not one of those creepy smiles he used when he got his way. This was one of those grins he got when he was happy, which didn’t happen very often. She’d seen it when John had handed Rosie to him for the first time, when John and Mary had been married.  These were in short supply.  She’d make it her mission to make these happen more often.

 


End file.
